I’ve been sloshing through the memories of my convent years, tossing out and adding to the pile of memories I’m inclined to share. Guilt threatens me at every turn, especially when it seems I’m whining or not being positive enough. We were brainwashed those days, so much so that we still bear many (though invisible) mental scars. I have no intention of casting a shadow on any of the women with whom I lived. It was the institution, rather than any individual that perpetrated the inhuman conditions we endured. I did encounter my share of prickly characters, though I now can’t blame them. They were simply reacting in their own way to the same conditions. I shy away from revealing those negative aspects, except as they applied to all of us. Thus, I continue to write my version of my nineteen years behind those walls. Which I continue to do, one chapter at a time. Until my book (Once Upon a Convent) is finished.

Two things strike me upon reading this post: first, most of us probably had no clue what you went through, and certainly no clue what you currently are going through as you tell your story–so thank you for educating us by sharing your most personal thoughts. Secondly, enough suffering is enough, and I would bet that once your book is out there, the door to reliving and re-guessing what should or shouldn’t have been done will be closed–over. Yes, you will still remember stuff, but in a more detached way. What do you think?

Yes, it will be good to be done with the telling of these memories and move on. Though it has been painful to recount the memories, it has also afforded me the opportunity to forgive and heal. I am grateful for all that has happened in my life, and honor myself for having always done my best. Thank you for sharing your thoughts too. You must have traveled the road of suffering as well, to express such compassion.